


danger days

by s_coups



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Blood, Character Death, Codenames, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Inspired by Mad Max Series (Movies), M/M, Post-Nuclear War, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-22 22:11:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9627605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_coups/pseuds/s_coups
Summary: alternatively titled, jet star and the kobra kid hatefucking while on the run through post apocalyptic deserts.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i used codenames because i was inspired by mcr's danger days album and in the mv's they all had codenames? so for a list of codenames if you need a reference, i'll add them in the end notes  
> for rhea! ♡

Almost every other day, Xu Minghao experiences a crisis. The crisis usually takes the form of Kim Mingyu, and Minghao is sure that he himself is the form of Mingyu's own bi-weekly crisis.

The crisis consists of three stages: The first one, Minghao refers to as the Basic stage. It's basic because it happens so often, and sometimes is the only stage that happens, never reaching the next one. The two of them will start to bicker, usually over something irrelevant and so tiny they can never remember what it was twenty minutes later, and the bicker will escalate into fighting. The peak of the Basic stage is when Minghao starts shouting, deep voice hoarse and angry, and Mingyu starts shouting back, the walls of whatever cave or crumbled down building they're staying in that night shaking with the impact of their voices hurling curses and insults at each other rapid fire.

The second stage is the Violence stage, and begins when Mingyu finally snaps, and throws the first punch. He usually misses, because his vision blurs and tints red when he's angry,  and Minghao will throw the next one, which will hit Mingyu square in the face. Mingyu has gotten more bloody noses from Minghao's own hand than he has from the scorching desert sun and bone dry air. Mingyu's vision clears and they begin the real fight, no longer shouting but using their fists now. Both of them usually end up bleeding, one of them more than the other, and whichever one is less incapacitated is the one that initiates stage three.

Stage three is simultaneously Minghao's favorite and least favorite stage. He personally refers to it as the Shame stage, because Mingyu is stronger than him, and he always wins the fights, which means Minghao ends up on the bottom. Mingyu revels in his victory by fucking Minghao, usually on all fours, sometimes against the walls, sometimes standing up. In the moment, Minghao loves it. Afterwards, it only fuels Minghao's anger more, makes him start the crisis all over again just so he can win the Violence stage and maybe, finally, fuck some of that cockiness that he despises so much out of Mingyu.

Currently, it's early morning, the sun still low and the sky a deep purple color, streaks of pink raising higher and higher as time passes. Minghao looks up at the sky and wishes the stars were still visible from earth.

Mingyu passes by then, awake now, purposefully shoving past Minghao as he heads for their truck. Minghao watches him with glare, rolling a cigarette carefully in his lap.

Mingyu digs through the bags in the bed of their truck until he finds a half full water bottle, and he downs it all in one go. Minghao thinks the way his throat works when he swallows is sexy, and he wants to see what his cock would look like shoved down that same throat.

Minghao licks the paper of his cigarette, closing it carefully. Mingyu crushes the water bottle and tosses it back into the bed, yawning as he comes back towards Minghao.

"Is that my rolling paper?" Mingyu demands, lip curling as he watches Minghao put the freshly rolled cigarette between his teeth.

"Yes," Minghao says smugly.

Mingyu glares at him. "Give them back," He snaps, holding his dirty hand out in front of Minghao. Minghao takes his own equally filthy hand and slaps it on top of Mingyu's, palm up.

"Give me back my lighter," Minghao growls.

Mingyu rolls his eyes, huffing. He digs into the pocket of his jeans until he pulls out Minghao's electric blue lighter. He throws it hard at the elder, and it hits him right in the chin. Minghao takes the cigarette out of his mouth and spits at Mingyu. It lands on his shoe, and Mingyu just spits back, holding his hand out again.

"The papers," He demands. Minghao reaches into his shirt pocket and moves to hand them to Mingyu. At the last second, before he drops it into the other's palm, he changes his mind, and instead hurls them about a hundred feet away, past where their truck is parked.

"Go get 'em," He mutters, picking up his lighter and sparking up his cigarette. Mingyu gives him a furious look, stomping away to retrieve his papers.

Minghao sighs when he takes his first drag, enjoying the way he could feel the smoke fill his lungs. If these things didn't kill him, Mingyu would probably do it soon enough.

 

Minghao thinks things might be different if the circumstances were as well. If they weren't both pickpockets who spent most of their time robbing tribes and communities that were still trying to make a standing in the world. If they hadn't seen the things they'd seen, if Minghao hadn't killed more people than he could count and Mingyu didn't spend most nights awake coughing up blood from nuclear poisoning. If the world was still put together and not a desert wasteland, and they were sure they would make it to see tomorrow.

The thing is, Minghao doesn't want things to to be different. He doesn't love Mingyu. He doesn't even like him, and he can assuredly say the same thing for the younger. They hate each other, and Minghao thinks the sole reason they stick together is because it's boring being alone. And when you never know when you're going to die, it's always nice to have someone to fuck when you need to release some tension.

Mingyu calls him Kobra Kid because he says his veins are full of poison like a snakes. Minghao calls him Jetstar because it was the name of the first bomb they dropped that got them all this fucked, and he thinks Mingyu just made things in his life worse after they met. Like a nuclear bomb.

Mingyu had a truck, and Minghao had lots of guns, and together they made things work. Mingyu pretended he didn't see the scars that littered Minghao's body, and Minghao pretended he didn't see how Mingyu cries sometimes when the sun was still on the horizon and he thinks the elder's asleep. It works.

 

If Minghao could name one person he hates more than Mingyu, it's probably Seungcheol, a.k.a Fun Ghoul. Six feet and one hundred thirty pounds of fucked up, they always run into Seungcheol at the worst timing, the elder hurtling towards them on his stupid fucking motorcycle at one eighty an hour and trying to steal whatever was rightfully theres. Usually it was drugs he was trying to get, and Mingyu liked to steal drugs because they gained a higher profit if they wanted to sell them, so that made them the perfect target for Seungcheol. Minghao thinks the elders swallowed too much radiation poisoned water, because he was out of his mind.

This time they run into him as they’re tying down their loads of the day, mid afternoon. The sun is high in the sky, boiling hot and burning the back of Minghao's neck, his calloused skin stinging. Mingyu slaps him on the shoulder purposefully, grinning at the way Minghao gasps from the pain.

"You should stay out of the sun," Mingyu states cheerfully. Minghao glares at him, flipping him off instead of bothering to answer.

In the distance, they hear the roar of a motorcycle's engine. Minghao straightens up, scanning the horizon, while Mingyu simply groans and mutters, "Fuck."

Sure enough, Seungcheol's black motorcycle comes racing over the sand dunes, two other bikes behind him. Minghao sighs, sitting on top of all their shit tied down in the bed, while Mingyu jumped off, heading round to the passenger seat to get a gun.

"Get the rifle," Minghao calls.

"Fuck you, don't tell me what to do," Mingyu spits back. He uses the seat as leverage and hops up onto the roof of the car, a sniper in his hands.

While the other fixes the half broken sight, Minghao pulls a rolled cigarette from his shirt pocket. It's bent in half, and he has to lick his fingers and straighten it back into place before he can light it.

Something hits him hard in the back of the head, and when he whips around he finds Mingyu's shoe beside him. He glares up at Mingyu, who's on his stomach on the roof looking through the sniper's sight and missing a shoe.

"Stop using my fucking rolling papers," Mingyu snaps.

"Throw something else at my fucking head and your rolling papers will be the least of your worries," Minghao snarls, and he can see the way Mingyu's eyebrows raise as he rolls his eyes behind the safety of the sight.

Seungcheol's close now. Mingyu fires the sniper, just to the side of Seungcheol's bike. The sand explodes beside him, and he swerves, but stays on his bike. One of the others with him almost falls off his own.

"You missed," Minghao says dully, leaning back on his elbows and stretching out his legs in front of him.

"No shit, Kobra. I wasn't trying to hit him."

Minghao waves his hand dismissively. "Whatever you say, Jetstar."

The motorcycle's engines roar louder and louder as Seungcheol gets closer and closer, until finally he skids to a stop a few meters away from them. Minghao recognizes the one to Seungcheol's left, with long hair and sharp eyes, bandana tied around his mouth; his name was Junghan (Party Poison, or Poison, as Minghao so affectionately referred to him) and he had once shot Mingyu straight through the thigh with a handgun when he and Seungcheol had shown up in the dead of night to ransack their stock. Mingyu still had the scar to prove it.

The one to Seungcheol's right Minghao doesn't recognize, frizzy blond hair poking out of his headband and sharp, cat like eyes. He must be new, one of Seungcheol's disposable men, because he's never had a permanent one other than Junghan in what the younger can only assume has been years.

"Been good, Kobra?" Seungcheol calls through his own bandana, matching with Junghan's. Minghao snorts, smoke furling out of his nostrils like a dragon's, and nods.

"Yeah, been real fucking good, Ghoul," Minghao shouts back over the still running engines. On the roof of the truck, Minghao hears more than sees Mingyu shift slightly.

"And you, Jetstar?" Seungcheol asks. He cuts the brakes and switches off his bike, and Junghan and the other boy follow. Silence follows, sand settling around them.

Mingyu sucks his teeth loudly. "Fuck off, Ghoul. Get out of here before I shoot you between the eyes."

Seungcheol tsks. "No way to greet a guest, is it?" He pulls off his bandana, tilting his head in Mingyu's direction and addressing Minghao again. "Something up his ass?"

"Probably the bullet Poison put through his leg last time," Minghao says casually, ashing his cigarette on the bed of the truck. Junghan laughs loudly, his voice ringing out in the desert around them.

"Tell us what you want before I blow your brains all over the desert," Mingyu snarls, impatience seeping through his words. Seungcheol curls his lip, glaring at the younger boy. "And you're not getting your thieving hands in our stash again."

"We wouldn't have much trouble if we wanted to, though," Junghan murmurs, flashing a dazzling smile at Mingyu.

Minghao spits his half burnt cigarette onto the bed of the truck and puts it out with the palm of his hand, the burn only feeling like a slight sting. "Just tell us what's up, Ghoul."

Seungcheol clears his throat, stretching out both his legs so his feet are planted firmly on the ground and he's straddling his bike. He leans forward, resting his chin on the handlebars and windshield. "Doctor's comin' back."

No one speaks. From the roof of the truck, Minghao hears Mingyu pull away from his sniper, click the safety on. Minghao's heart pounds loudly in his ear.

"Like... Death Defy?" Mingyu finally says, voice quiet but carrying with the wind so they could all hear it.

Minghao whips around to glare at him. "No, the other fucking Doctor, dumbass."

Mingyu looks ready to hurl himself off the roof at the other. "Fuck you."

"Hey, hey," Seungcheol whistles. "Everybody just calm down."

"You two really need some couple therapy," Junghan says, grinning lazily. Mingyu flips him off, not bothering with a response.

Seungcheol laughs, tossing his sidekick a fond look. Minghao's stomach twists at the way they look at each other.

"Anyway, just wanted to warn you, he's comin' back. And, yes, Dr. Death Defy," Seungcheol adds, nodding at Mingyu. "Sunshine and Woozi let me know on the low two days ago, so I figured you two might wanna know as well. You know, since you roll with Tumbleweed."

"I haven't seen Tumbleweed in weeks," Minghao comments. His last memory of Hansol was when they'd crossed paths ransacking an abandoned bomb shelter. The scar that crossed diagonally over Hansol's face curled the right side of his mouth into a permanent, cheshire sort of grin, and even then, stick thin and looking like he just crawled out of a gang fight clinging to the last shreds of life, he laughed and greeted them both cheerily as the three of them scoured the dusty cupboards for remnants of food.

Seungcheol shrugs. "Won't matter to Doctor. You know he just wants to get his hands on Tumbleweed someway, somehow."

"That fucker is out of his mind," Mingyu grumbles under his breath. After a second, he notices the new boy on the bike to Seungcheol's right staring at him, and barks, "Who the hell is he?"

Seungcheol grins, claps the boy on the back. The boy looks startled now that he's the center of attention, eyeing the sniper still in Mingyu's hand warily. "New recruit, Soonyoung. We don't have a name for him yet, though. Any suggestions?"

"Shitface," Mingyu supplies helpfully.

"Toxic Mega Cunt," Minghao offers.

Seungcheol nearly falls off his bike laughing, while Junghan furrows his brow at Minghao, commenting, "I think that's from a movie."

"Probably."

Seungcheol wipes at his eyes, still laughing, and starts folding his bandana into a mask again, tying it around his neck. "Well, that's all, kids. Just wanted to let you know he was comin' your way."

Minghao raises a hand. "Thanks for the warning."

Their motorcycles roar to life again, Seungcheol and Soonyoung sending clouds of sand into the air as they speed away. Junghan moves to follow, but just before he does, he pulls his pistol out of his holster and points it at Mingyu, unclicking the safety.

"No hard feelings, right, Jetstar?" He calls, grinning wickedly. Mingyu raises his sniper in response, clicking the safety off once more, but before he can raise the sight to his eye Junghan is racing over the dunes, still grinning over his shoulder and waving his pistol as goodbye.

 

Dr. Death Defy, or simply Doctor, was a boy about Seungcheol’s age named Junhui. From what Minghao had gathered over the years, Junhui had been a rebel ex-marine doctor hiding out with his lover, Jisoo, before Hansol had crashed through their hideout and killed Jisoo in a cocaine fueled rage that had absolutely nothing to do with either of them- they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Distraught over Jisoo’s death, Junhui had begun trying to kill himself using various methods, most of which involved some sort of poisoning. But none of them worked, and instead he drove himself insane from the exposure to so many radioactive chemicals and ultimately, defying death. For the past three years, Junhui had been on a man hunt for Hansol, destroying anything in his path that stood in the way. He’d almost got him, too, once a year and a half ago when they’d stumbled upon each other (completely accidentally). Hansol had escaped, but not until after Junhui sliced the signature scar right across his pretty face.

Junhui was absolutely, positively, out of his fucking mind. Even more so than Seungcheol, with wild hair and bloodshot eyes that were tinted a sickening yellow color from all the poisons. He ran alone, unlike Seungcheol, and the only times Minghao had ever interacted with him was when the elder had physically rammed into their truck with his own, and climbed out of his sunroof so he could point a rifle at Mingyu’s heart and demand to know where Hansol was. They'd escaped by the skin of their teeth, and if what Seungcheol said was true and Junhui was on his way back to their territory, they were all- to put it politely- fucked.

Minghao is on his back in the bed of their truck that night, just finishing up one of his last pre-rolled cigarettes and staring up at the red sky, wondering if the stars were still there even though he can't see them anymore. It's hot, too hot for the middle of the night, but that's to be expected. Minghao can barely remember when he was younger and the world wasn't a desert wasteland and his mother would wrap him in extra blankets when it got too cold at night.

The bed shakes as Mingyu jumps up onto it, coming to lay down beside him. His shoulder touches Minghao's, just barely, and it annoys Minghao but not enough to the point he'll bother asking him to move.

"What'cha thinkin’ about?" Mingyu asks, and his voice is too loud for the silence Minghao had been enjoying.

Minghao blows out a cloud of smoke and flicks the butt of his cigarette over the edge of the bed. "My mother."

Mingyu is silent for a few seconds before he speaks again, this time voice much quieter. "What was she like?"

Minghao closes his eyes and tries to remember. He can't, because it was too long ago, but he thinks she had short hair. And she had a nice voice, and her hands were always soft.

"I don't know," He eventually replies, and they fall into silence again.

Minghao hears before he feels Mingyu's hand inching towards him. For some reason, he expects him to put it on his thigh, move it towards his crotch because the other always wanted to fuck at the most inopportune moment, but instead he rests it on top of Minghao's own hand. He just lays it there, palm to palm, and other than the natural curl of their fingers towards each others, he doesn't try to intertwine them anymore.

Minghao doesn't say anything, and he can practically hear the way Mingyu's heart pounds in his chest, the tempo faster than usual. Minghao opens his eyes and the brightness of the sky hurts them.

"Your hand is kind of sweaty," He finally says, voice low.

"Do you want me to move it?" Mingyu whispers.

"No," Minghao murmurs, although he doubts the other would've listened if he'd said anything but.

It's odd to say the least. They've never shared a moment like this, or if they had, it had never been confronted, and had never been this... intimate. They were barely touching and yet Minghao could feel the hairs on Mingyu's arm standing up, skin prickling. He sort of wishes he felt the same, wonders if Mingyu was feeling something other than hatred towards him in that very moment, but all he can notice is how sweaty their palms are getting and how he'd rather just be alone right now.

 

Mingyu is driving, late afternoon, the sky just barely tinting red, the sun settling into it’s overnight position just above the eastern horizon, when he reaches over and puts his hand right over Minghao’s crotch and rubs him through his jeans.

Minghao’s half asleep, head resting on the glass of the window that was rolled halfway down, and he lurches at the touch, unexpected and making something inside him spark.

“Fuck, don’t do that,” He spits, but he doesn’t make to move, Mingyu’s palm pressing slowly against him an offer he can’t refuse.

Mingyu just hums, taps at the strip of skin just above the waistline of Minghao’s jeans but keeps his eyes forward. “Take those off.

Minghao grumbles something like _don’t tell me what to do_ under his breath but complies anyway, lifting his ass and wiggling his jeans and boxers off in one go until they’re pooled at his feet.

Mingyu grins to himself, doesn't hesitate to take Minghao's cock in his hand and start stroking him slowly to hardness. Minghao rests his head against the window again, shivering from the open air on his skin. Somehow, Mingyu still doesn't need to look to know what he's doing, know how to stroke Minghao the right way and swipe his thumb over the tip, make Minghao hide his groan in the back of his hand.

"It's just us," Mingyu murmurs, voice deep. "I wanna hear you."

Minghao resists the urge to say something snarky back, instead focusing on the ripples of pleasure that run through him at the other's voice. He lowers his hand, and instead covers Mingyu's with it, fingers fitting into the spaces between his around Minghao's own cock. He follows the younger's strokes loosely, eyes squeezed shut and face twisted into an expression that was probably not attractive in the slightest.

The truck jerks as it comes to a sudden stop, and Minghao doesn't bother opening his eyes until Mingyu's hand slows, and even then it's only to complain- but he's thrown off by how close Mingyu suddenly is, turned in his seat so he's facing the elder, staring at him.

"Look at me," Mingyu whispers, and Minghao wants so badly to close his eyes again but he can't. He finds himself staring right back at the younger, gazes locked even as Mingyu begins stroking him again. Minghao hand just rests over his, moving along with it.

Mingyu is watching him too intimately. It makes Minghao almost uncomfortable, but something in his chest feels like it's on fire and the look in the other's eyes makes a full body shudder run through him that only has a little to do with the pace Mingyu's setting as he jerks him off.

Minghao almost moves to cover his mouth when he feels the need to moan, before remembering Mingyu's words. Instead it comes out as a stuttering gasp, vocal chords practically failing him while he's still staring at the other.

The right corner of Mingyu's lips twitch into the smallest smile, and his eyes gleam as he breathes out, "Good boy."

Minghao's stomach clenches at that, his cock twitching in their hands, and Mingyu smirks fully but doesn't comment on it (Minghao is thankful, because that's not something he wants to address right now, along with a plethora of other things that involve the younger.)

Mingyu reaches out with his free hand suddenly, raises it and delicately brushes Minghao's bangs from his face, eyes darting up to look at them. It's so, so tender, so soft, and Minghao's heart feels like it's physically swelling up. He hates it. He hates it.

Mingyu's eyes flicker back to his, darker now, and he twists his wrist in a way that has Minghao gasping again, scrambling to grab hold of something. The first thing he grabs his Mingyu's shirt, old and dirty, and too hard a tug might rip it right off his frame but the younger doesn't seem to care.

Minghao comes hypnotized by Mingyu's gaze, hips chasing his grip, heart feeling like it's going to burst right out of his chest. He wants to moan, wants Mingyu to smile and praise him again (and again, not something he wishes to address), but all that comes out is a high pitched, breathy noise. It sounds feminine and far too different from the way Minghao usually groans when they fuck, but it seems to please Mingyu because he gives him a lazy grin, still stroking the elder through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

When it's too much Minghao pushes at his hand, swatting him away. Mingyu raises his hand to his mouth and licks his fingers clean, laughing at the awestruck look on the other's face. When he's done, he reaches out and pats Minghao firmly on the cheek like a dog, turning back to face front and revving up the engine again.

Minghao has a million questions he wants to ask, but he can't seem to formulate any of them, and he's feeling even sleepier than before in the wake of his orgasm. He reaches out, means to return the favor, but Mingyu stops him, holds onto his wrist a little longer than necessary before gently pushing it back into Minghao's lap.

"Sleep, baby," Mingyu says, voice soothing. Minghao curls his lip at the pet name but can't be bothered to actually say anything about it. He falls asleep mere seconds later, missing the way Mingyu smirks to himself when he glances at the elder one more time.

 

It’s only three days later that Minghao realizes something is wrong, realizes that those things he doesn’t want to address need to be brought into the light.

It’s stupid, really, it isn’t even something bad that happens. They’re picking their way through a rocky terrain, trying to get to an abandoned, sheltered community they’d heard Woozi tell them about awhile back and scrape together whatever food or remains they could find. Mingyu trips stupidly on a rock, tumbles onto his hands and knees and scrapes up his shins and his palms. It’s not a big deal, but Minghao panics the minute he sees Mingyu fall. He’s there in seconds, hovering over Mingyu while the younger curses to himself and falls back onto his heels. He raises his palms up, and Minghao’s heart rate only doubles when he sees the bloody scratches on them.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Mingyu grumbles, at the same time Minghao reaches out and oh so gently takes Mingyu’s wrists in his hands, pulls them towards him so he can examine them more closely.

His first thought is _Fuck, I hope these don’t get infected._ His second thought is _Where did I put the bandage wraps?_ And his final thought is the awareness of what he’s doing, softly holding Mingyu’s hands in his own as he worries over the smallest of wounds. When he looks up, Mingyu is frowning at him, expression unreadable.

“Alright, Kobra?” He asks, quietly, and Minghao can’t find it in himself to answer until Mingyu tugs his hands away and he’s snapped back to reality.

“Yeah,” Minghao breathes. He brushes his hands off on his jeans and gets to his feet, holds his hand out for Mingyu to take so he can help him to his feet. Mingyu seems to consider it for a second, but ends up ignoring him and getting to his feet on his own. His shins are scraped and bleeding as well, and Minghao tries to look away from them and focus on something else.

“Don’t be such a fucking ditz next time,” He says, swallowing hard, and instead of snapping back at him, Mingyu just gives him an odd sort of look and stays silent.

 

Minghao has a dream that night. The most distinctive point of it is that it seems to be winter. Minghao can’t remember winter in his conscious state, but his unconscious mind seems to, because the bitter wind feels so familiar, the freezing snow and the way it seeps into his boots and soaks his skin not a new concept altogether to him.

He’s braving through a blizzard, snow hurling around him, icy and hard, pelting against his face with the force of a hurricane. He can barely see ten feet in front of him, but there seems to be someone coming in his direction. They’re not affected by the blizzard, unlike him, and walk with ease through the falling snow.

The person comes into his view, and it’s Mingyu, because who else would it be? The younger is dressed in his usual clothes, ratty t-shirt and shorts that have unidentified stains on them (ones that look like blood). Minghao reaches out for him, calls for him through chilled vocal chords, and Mingyu comes to him like he was going to whether the elder wanted him to or not. He’s there in seconds despite the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Minghao, his scent familiar and warm and making Minghao’s heart ache. Minghao clings to him, shivering, trying to speak, but Mingyu just holds him closer, and very briefly he thinks he feels the younger press a kiss to the crown of his head.

He wakes from a sharp pain to the side of the head, like Mingyu had hit him, and when he opens his eyes he finds he did. Mingyu stands beside him, and without any mercy, kicks Minghao hard in the side of the head again, just barely missing his ear.

“Fuck off!” Minghao snarls, scrambling away from the younger, but Mingyu ignores him, grabbing his elbow and hauling him to his feet.

“Doctor’s coming,” Mingyu says over Minghao’s stream of curses, face hard. “We gotta go.”

Minghao’s voice catches in his throat mid-profanity, and all thoughts of snow and Mingyu’s warmth vanish as he watches the other leap from the bed of their truck, shouting, “Come on, Kobra, move your fucking ass!”

Minghao clambers off the bed, jumping off and hurrying to the passenger door. He hasn’t even closed the door before Mingyu’s started the engine, hitting the gas pedal with such force Minghao jerks forward and bangs his head on the dashboard.

“God, slow down, you psycho,” Minghao snaps.

Mingyu curls his lip at him, looking in the rearview mirror as he says, “Get a gun.”

Minghao obliges, reaching into the backseat and sorting through their almost unnecessarily large pile of guns for a rifle. When he brings it back to the front with him, Mingyu gives him a look.

“Use the sniper,” He says, and Minghao snorts as he digs for bullets in the glove compartment and starts loading them in.

“I can’t shoot a fucking sniper when you’re going one eighty an hour,” Minghao spits back. He snaps the barrel shut, unclicks the safety and rolls down the truck window. He thinks he vaguely hears Mingyu say something back to him, but he can’t hear it over the roar of the wind when he sticks his head out the window to look behind them.

Sure enough, there’s two trucks in their wake. One of them is dark blue and rusted, familiar in the groan of it’s engine and the driver behind the windshield. It’s Jihoon, and when he spots Minghao sticking halfway out the window, he winks at him in recognition. In the passenger seat, he can just make out the form of Seokmin loading up his own rifle.

Minghao pulls his head back in, gives Mingyu a dirty look as he says, “Sunshine’s got a rifle, too.”

Mingyu snorts. “Well, whoop-dee-fucking-doo for Sunshine. Maybe you should suck Woozi’s dick, too, than you two could be twins.”

Minghao resists the urge to punch Mingyu in the jaw and sticks his head back out the window. The second truck is much larger than theirs, with spikes coming out of the tires rims and a plow attached to the front. Minghao knows without seeing through the tinted windows that it’s Junhui’s.

Seokmin pops his head out of their sunroof then, twists around and spots Minghao and gives an excited wave.

“Seen Tumbleweed, yet?” Seokmin shouts over the howl of the wind and the rumbling of the engines, and Minghao just shakes his head. Seokmin laughs, and the fact that Minghao can hear it over all the noise just reminds him of why everyone calls the younger _Sunshine_.

Seokmin fires the first shot, right at Junhui’s windshield. It hits it dead on, but like Minghao thought, doesn’t do any damage other than making the eldest swerve slightly. He stays on track, though, and a second later Minghao spots him stick his arm out the window and fire a pistol in Seokmin’s direction.

Seokmin ducks, the bullets bouncing off the metal of Jihoon’s truck and causing a loud ringing sound to echo around them. Minghao fires next, aiming for the tires of Junhui’s truck, but he’s too far back and it’s impossible for him to get the right angle with the speed they’re going. Minghao hooks himself out of the window completely, rests the rifle on the roof of the car and sits on the windowsill so only his legs are in the truck.

He leans down slightly, shouting over the noise at Mingyu. “Slow down!”

“What?” Mingyu yells back.

“Slow down!”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Mingyu demands. “You want him to turn us into fucking kebobs?”

“If I shoot his tires at the right angle they’ll blow!” Minghao explains. He hears the sounds of Seokmin firing again, and what sounds like Jihoon flooring the gas pedal as their engine hisses in protest. “But you need to slow down!”

Mingyu gives him a doubtful look, but seems to follow his command, lifting his foot. The truck begins to slow, Jihoon catching up and ending up almost right behind them.

Seokmin turns at this, looking confused. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to blow his tires!” Minghao shouts. “Slow down so he can catch up!”

Seokmin looks just as doubtful as Mingyu but nods, ducks his head into the car to let Jihoon know. Jihoon slows as well a second later, and soon Junhui is picking up speed, just a stone’s throw away. Minghao rests his chin along with the rifle on the roof again, closes one eye to better his aim and hopes for the best when he pulls the trigger.

It backfires. Instead of hitting Junhui’s tire, it hits one of the spikes on his rims and ricochets back in their direction, straight through their back window and shattering through their windshield. Mingyu curses, the truck jerking wildly as glass sprays in his face, and Minghao has to cling for his dear life to the roof, hoping he won’t be thrown off.

Over the skidding of the tires, Minghao hears Junhui’s laughing, wild and deep, different from Seokmin’s in the pitch and the way it sends chills up his spine. Jihoon takes a sharp right to avoid crashing into their truck, and Junhui follows them instead. Minghao watches the trucks speed away into the horizon, gunshots echoing through the empty deserts. Mingyu is slowing down, and by the time the other trucks are just a pinprick in the distance their own is coming to a complete stop.

Minghao feels something against his knee, and before he can react Mingyu is shoving him out the window. He topples to the ground, banging his head hard. He hears the driver’s door burst open and then Mingyu is coming around the front, kicking sand in his face and hurling all the curse words he knows in his general direction.

“You stupid fucking _idiot_ , I knew that was a bad idea,” Mingyu snarls. He keeps kicking him, making Minghao simply roll away from him in an attempt to avoid getting sand in his eyes. “God, why do I ever listen to you, now our fucking truck is busted and it’s all your fault-”

“Knock it off!” Minghao yells, covering his face with his arms, and after one final kick Mingyu stops, dropping to sit and leaning against the frame of the truck. Minghao rolls over, peeking open one eye to make sure it’s safe.

Mingyu’s face is bloody, tiny scratches all over skin. It looks like there’s even bits of glass still stuck in him, and Minghao winces out of sympathy pain. That’s gotta hurt.

“Shit,” He mumbles, sitting up. “That’s… your face.”

“Yeah, dickwad,” Mingyu growls, eyes squeezed shut. “My fuckin’ face.”

Minghao crawls over to him, slowly, stops just a foot away. He reaches out, wants to touch Mingyu’s cheek but thinks better of it and instead wipes at the blood coating the younger’s split bottom lip. He hisses in response, eyes fluttering open, and Minghao swallows hard.

“Sorry,” He mumbles. “I’m sorry.”

Mingyu gives him a long look before finally swatting Minghao’s hand away roughly. “Don’t touch me,” He grumbles, and Minghao nods, sitting back on his heels and feeling shittier than he’s ever felt before. Guilt didn’t sit well with him.

They end up staying there overnight, trying to calculate if they could make it to the junkyard with the damage they’d received. Mingyu says they can, but he tells Minghao he’s going to make the plans from now on. Minghao can’t find it in him to argue.

 

It’s the middle of the night when they’re both woken by the familiar roar of a motorcycle's engine that resonates around them. Minghao sits up first, too quickly so that his head spins, and finds only one motorcycle rolling over the dunes. The hair blowing in the wind behind the driver alerts him that it's Junghan, and he's got someone draped over his back.

Within seconds he's skidding to a halt a few feet away, almost toppling over as he struggles to lift the person off the bike as well. It's Seungcheol, head lolling, the pale skin of his face stained with what was so obviously blood.

"Jetstar," Junghan calls, and his voice is rough, eyes watery. He stumbles as he moves closer, and Minghao hops off the bed to help Junghan carry Seungcheol over and lay him down. "Help, please, I think he's dying."

Seungcheol groans, blood dribbling out of his lips when he does. Junghan looks distressed as Mingyu peels off Seungcheol's jacket and finds an open bullet wound at the top of Seungcheol's stomach.

"Did Doctor do this?" Minghao asks, and Junghan nods frantically.

"I don't know how he found us, we've been moving daily," Junghan's voice shakes as he speaks, eyes never wavering from where Mingyu was now attempting to soak up all the blood caking Seungcheol's skin with one of Minghao's old shirts. "We were just getting ready to move again, and then Soonyoung came out of nowhere shouting about someone breaking through the barrier we set up, and then he suddenly collapsed and there was gunshots everywhere and- and-" Junghan gasps through a sob, face twisting when Seungcheol groans again. "Oh, my God, he's not going to die, is he?"

Mingyu doesn't look up, but from the dark look on his face Minghao doesn't think it's good news. "I don't know. I can't find the bullet's exit hole. I think it's still in his stomach, and it looks like he's lost a lot of blood already."

Junghan sobs again, and this time he throws himself onto the bed of the truck as well, latching onto Seungcheol's arm and gripping the elder's hand tightly between both of his own. "Seungcheol, you can't do this to me," Junghan cries. "Don't you fucking die on me."

Seungcheol shifts, opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but all that comes out is a garbled mess and more blood. Some of it splatters onto Junghan's face, and Minghao's heart twists up at the sight- Junghan clinging to Seungcheol and his tears streaking through the blood stains.

"Fuck," Mingyu mutters. "Fuckin' hell, Poison, he's lost so much blood. I don't think he's gonna make it."

Strands of hair stick to Junghan's cheeks from his tears, and he looks at Mingyu so despairingly the younger looks away, down at his hands holding the shirt against Seungcheol's stomach like he's disappointed in himself that he can't try harder.

"What am I supposed to do?" Junghan whispers. "What am I supposed to do if he dies?"

Mingyu doesn't answer, so Minghao says, "Move on."

Junghan whips around to look at him, tears rolling down his cheeks. "You have no heart, Minghao."

Minghao shrugs, choosing to ignore the fact that Junghan used his real name. Mingyu reaches out and puts a hand on Junghan's shoulder, and the older turns back to him.

"Look, I don't-" Mingyu begins, but suddenly Seungcheol lurches beneath him, making all of them jump.

"Junghan," He slurs out, teeth stained with blood and eyes half lidded. Junghan moves closer, pulling Seungcheol's hand to his chest.

"I'm here, baby, I'm here," Junghan murmurs, his voice immediately taking on a soothing, softer tone. The tremble is still there, in his hands and in his lips, but he looks at Seungcheol so unwaveringly Minghao feels he's intruding on a private moment.

"Hurts," Seungcheol mumbles. "Where are you?"

"Right here," Junghan whispers again. "Right here, I'm here with you. I'm sorry it hurts, baby." He reaches out, gently, pushes Seungcheol’s hair away from his forehead and begins stroking his hair lovingly.

Seungcheol looks like he's trying to swallow, throat working like he's either going to throw up or choke. Instead, more blood spills past his lips, and he sticks out his tongue to get it all out, gagging. Junghan sobs again.

"I'm sorry, I can't do anything, baby, I don't know how he found us," Junghan stumbles over his words, gripping Seungcheol's hand so tightly both their fingers were turning white. "I'm sorry, I wasn't there, I wasn't watch-"

"That place," Seungcheol says slowly, brow furrowing like he's thinking. "With the river. Red dirt. Crows. Remember?"

Junghan wipes at his tears with one hand, frowning as well. "Yes, I remember it."

Seungcheol's eyes slip closed, his heavy breathing slowing down significantly within a few seconds. The panic in Junghan's eyes is evident, and he shakes Seungcheol a little too violently until Seungcheol speaks again.

"You were-" Is all he gets out before he heaves a breath, like it's becoming a struggle to breathe.

"I was what?" Junghan asks, voice so quiet Minghao can barely hear it from where he stands.

"Happy," Seungcheol murmurs. "You were happy there."

Using what seems like all his strength, he jerks himself closer to Junghan, so that his cheek rests against the younger's forearm. Mingyu curses as more blood pools out of the elder, and Seungcheol just sighs, closing his eyes.

"Go back," He whispers. "Be happy."

"Okay," Junghan breathes, voice shaking. "Okay, I'll go back there. You'll come with me, though, right?"

Seungcheol doesn't respond. It's like they can all hear it, Seungcheol's heartbeat slowing, his breathing getting shallower and shallower until everything comes to a stop in a deafening silence. Mingyu moves the cloth slowly away from Seungcheol, puts it down on the bed and gently begins climbing down. Junghan doesn't move, still looking at Seungcheol expectantly, waiting for an answer he’ll never get.

Mingyu puts a hand against Minghao's lower back and pushes him towards the front of the truck, a silent _we should leave him alone_. Minghao would argue but the glassiness of Junghan's eyes and the way he clings to Seungcheol's body makes him uncomfortable, so he goes without protest.

They settle into the backseat to go back to sleep, and despite not hearing his motorcycle leave, they don't hear anything of Junghan the rest of the night.

When they wake in the morning, Junghan is gone, and so is Seungcheol's body, the only evidence they were there the dried blood on Mingyu's hands and the now permanent red stains on the bed of their truck.

 

Junhui finds them again when they’re only six miles from the junkyard, Minghao behind the wheel this time. They hear the sound of a familiar engine, and spy Jihoon’s dark blue truck coming towards them, but as it gets closer Minghao sees it’s Junhui behind the wheel and his stomach twists into knots when he wonders what happened to Jihoon and Seokmin.

Mingyu doesn’t seem bothered with that fact, not surprised at all, and instead grabs a pistol without hesitation, sticks his head out the window and opens fire at the elder. He doesn’t seem to have a plan, just firing at will and seemingly hoping one of them will stick. Junhui is speeding up, coming closer and closer to them, and Minghao can still hear the elder’s laughter from two days earlier ringing through his ears. Mingyu keeps wincing from the wind whipping against his cut up face, and guilt and worry ring through Minghao all at once.

Junhui’s truck finally matches their pace, and Mingyu stops firing. Junhui rolls down his window and grins at them from the driver's seat- he looks the same as always, skin sickly pale and bloodshot, yellow eyes wild enough to match his hair.

“Been awhile, kids,” He calls, and Mingyu spits out the window in his direction. He misses completely, but Junhui tsks anyway.

“We don’t know where Tumbleweed is,” Minghao yells, and Mingyu glares at him, hissing, “ _Shut up_ ,” under his breath.

Junhui laughs. “I know that’s a lie, Kobra! You roll with him all the time.”

“We haven’t seen him in weeks,” Mingyu shouts.

“Ghoul said the same thing,” Junhui replies. “You wanna end up like him?”

Minghao’s stomach twists into a bigger knot, and he thinks of Junghan, hysterical and clinging to Seungcheol’s dying body.

“Ghoul’s a liar,” Mingyu continues. He doesn’t seem as affected by Junhui’s words as Minghao is. “He got what was coming to him.”

Junhui whistles, tosses his head back and laughs. When he brings it forward again, his face makes a full one eighty change, mouth setting into a hard line and eyes narrowing into slits.

“Tell me where Tumbleweed is, and don’t fucking lie to me, Jetstar,” He snarls, and finally that get’s a reaction out of Mingyu, who reaches behind him and grabs Minghao’s arm, seemingly unconsciously. Minghao gets the message and floors the gas pedal, thanking whatever God still existed that Jihoon’s truck’s engine was even more worn down and trashy than there’s and allowed them to speed ahead without a problem.

Without warning, the sound of a gunshot goes off. They meet eyes the second it does, looking at each other for a cue to signal it was the other, but Minghao didn’t have a gun and Mingyu didn’t have anymore bullets. Something cracks, what sounds like already broken glass from the back window, and then there’s the sharpest pain zinging through Minghao’s face, a bullet going straight through his cheek and clear out the other side.

His body locks up, hands curled around the steering wheel with an iron grip as the pain and realization of what just happened sets in. It feels like everything’s going in slow motion, the way Mingyu’s eyes widen in surprise, the blood trickling down his throat, the breeze inside his mouth from the fucking hole in his face. And than with the sound of Junhui’s laugh, it all sets into regular time again.

The truck careens to the left, Minghao unable to move his hands, his mind going into shock. Mingyu dives for the wheel, shouting at him to take his foot off the gas, but he can’t even do that. Mingyu has to bodily climb over him, shove his legs out of the way so he can slam on the brake and they can come to a jolting stop.

Junhui hurtles past them, truck still racing at their original pace. Minghao can feel blood filling his throat, warm as it goes down, and he thinks it’s dribbling down his chin, too, but his face is starting to feel numb and he’s not actually sure what’s happening.

Mingyu sits in his lap, straddling him. He turns, face inches from Minghao’s, and assesses the damage. Mingyu looks a mess, face cut up and scabbing from the glass exploding in his face the other day, but Minghao’s sure he looks even worse. The blood is starting to leak into his lungs, down the wrong pipe, and he can’t even find it in himself to cough, body still locked from the shock.

“Fuck,” Mingyu breathes, his exhale warm against Minghao’s nose. “Fuck.”

Ahead, the squeal of tires alerts them of Junhui turning around, headed back in their direction. Mingyu glances behind him, then back at Minghao, panic evident on his face. His eyes flicker from Minghao’s wound to the driver’s door, and Minghao immediately knows his plan.

“No,” He gurgles out, and just the single word sounds morphed and thick. Blood splatters Mingyu’s face and neck, and the younger grimaces. The look in his eyes says he has so much to say, but he doesn’t speak- instead he kicks open the driver’s seat door, climbs into the passenger seat so he can look at Minghao fully.

Minghao shakes his head best he can, trembling with the effort of moving so little. Mingyu swallows, grits his teeth and reaches out to push his hands against Minghao’s shoulder. He pushes, just slightly, and Minghao moves easily, unable to fight back. He tries to protest, tries to say something, but nothing comes out.

Mingyu gives him a look before he pushes him out of the truck. It says,  _Things could’ve been different between us._ It says, _Sometimes I think I felt the same way you do._ It says, _I worried about you all the time._ It says, _I’m sorry._

The last thing Minghao sees before he feels himself dying, before he drowns in his own blood filling up his lungs is their truck racing away, Junhui on it’s heels, kicking up sand and dirt that blows in Minghao’s direction and stings his eyes as he lays in their wake.

It says, _I hated you, anyway._

**Author's Note:**

> the codenames are as follows:  
> jetstar: mingyu  
> kobra kid: minghao  
> fun ghoul: seungcheol  
> party poison: junghan  
> dr. death defy: junhui  
> tumbleweed: hansol  
> sunshine: seokmin  
> woozi: take a wild guess
> 
> come yell at me on twitter @ballerinaten


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